


A Dream of You and Me

by peacefrog



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phone Sex, Post-5x13, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:53:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peacefrog/pseuds/peacefrog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I have an idea,” Brian says. “Are you touching yourself?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Dream of You and Me

For months after Justin was bashed, he only felt safe in Brian’s arms. The weight of him. The strength of his hands. The warmth of his mouth. These were the things by which he measured his own sense of security.

 _He’s here_ , he would think. _He’s here and I am alive_.

 _His hands on my back are a cage_. _The world can not get in_. _I am okay_.

 _His mouth is my salvation_. _His breath is my breath_. _I am safe_. _I am safe._

After Justin moves to New York, it’s like he’s eighteen all over again. 

On countless occasions he finds himself bolting straight up in bed, his flimsy mattress soaked through with sweat in the middle of the night. His eyes dart around the room, frantic, searching for any sign of him. 

Each time he remembers where he is, longing coils deep inside. Some indefinable ache for a thing not lost but too distant to feel any longer. 

He can convince himself during the day that he is okay, that he feels safe, that he is strong. The nights always take him back to that pitiful desperation to feel the warmth of Brian at his side, curled around his back, fingertips leaving bruises on his hips to remind him he is alive.

He knows that he is brave. Knows his own strength and can list many reasons why he is and always will be capable of protecting himself. He counts them on his fingers. He writes them down on sketch pads and in the margins of his favorite books. He splashes them as reminders on canvas. Red. Gold. Green.

He traces his hands over the long lines of his own body. Bones. Muscles. Tendons. His fingers press into the cradle of his hips, the dip of his lower back, the curve of his clavicle. He counts every rib, every knuckle, and when he is through he counts them again. The sum of him adds up to a whole that he knows can take on the world and come out the victor every single time.

He read once that the elements we are all made of were born in the interior of stars. That he is cosmic. That when he looks up into the night he is seeing a reflection of himself. He repeats this like a mantra until he pretends that he believes it.

 _You are made of stars_. _You are made of stars_. _You are made of stars_.

All of this knowledge does nothing to dull the ache. To calm the panic he feels when he reaches over in the haze of the night and feels nothing beside him but cool air and silence. 

Justin knows that it is not over. That it will never be over. That Brian is still his. That his twice monthly weekend visits are not things he insists on merely so he can get his dick sucked in the finest hotel suites the city has to offer. That the flights he insists on paying for at least once a month so Justin can come home are not because he takes pity on him or because he thinks of it as an obligation.

They are a promise. An affirmation. Vows breathed into his skin. Goodbyes said with the knowledge that _hello again_ will never be too far off. But the nights alone, the weeks that drag between visits, they bring about a lingering fear that creeps up his spine in the night. It is ever-present and very rarely reasoned with. 

Almost always he fights the urge to call Brian late at night. He knows how it will go. How it always goes when he’s not strong enough.

“You’re being ridiculous,” he’ll say. “You can protect yourself. You always have.”

Even knowing this, he can’t fight back tonight. His hand finds his phone on the bedside table and four rings later Brian’s voice is coming through the receiver.

“Justin?” Brian’s voice is thick with sleep.

“Hey,” he whispers. 

“Did you have another nightmare?” 

“No. I just… I miss you.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end, then the rustle of sheets and the gentle sound of Brian breathing. He knows he’s sitting up, reaching for a cigarette.

He hears the telltale click of a lighter. An intake of breath. A long exhale of smoke.

“I miss you, too,” Brian says, finally.

“I can’t sleep.” Justin sits up. His cheap bed has no headboard and the wall is cool against his back.

“I have an idea,” Brian says. “Are you touching yourself?”

“No. Should I be?” Justin smiles, reaching down to palm at his cock through his underwear.

“I’m hard,” Brian says softly. “I was dreaming about you.”

“ _Brian_ ,” Justin breathes, his cock growing harder by the second.

“I was dreaming about your mouth. I miss your mouth on my cock. No one sucks me off like you do, Sunshine.”

“Oh, fuck... Brian.” With one hand Justin shoves his underwear down just far enough to free his cock. Brian’s voice on the other end of the line is enough to have him painfully hard and leaking already.

“And I miss your cock in my mouth, too. Next time I see you I’m gonna swallow you down and make you come in my throat.”

Justin fucks up into his fist, Brian’s breathing on the other end of the line letting him know that he’s doing the very same.

“I miss your hands. The way you stroke me first thing in the morning. The way you jerk me off in the shower. In the middle of traffic. Fucking everywhere. You’re always ready for it, aren’t you?”

Justin simply moans in response. Squeezing his eyes shut, remembering the last time they were together last week. Remembering the hand jobs they gave each other in the car on the way to the airport. How they tangled their bodies together after and kissed for so long Brian nearly missed his flight.

“I miss your ass most of all. Miss rimming you until you’re on the verge of tears and begging to be fucked.” Brian groans, his breath quickening.

Justin finds he can no longer form words, Brian’s voice threatening to push him over the edge almost instantly. He is at once going out of his mind with the need for release, yet overwhelmed with how safe and grounded this makes him feel. 

Brian always knows exactly what he needs.

“I’m gonna split you open on my cock and fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for weeks after I’m gone.” Brian’s practically purring the words.

“Mmm... I’m gonna fuck you for forty-eight hours straight.” Brian moans, and it’s the filthiest, the most beautiful, sound Justin’s ever heard.

“I’m gonna make you come so many times you won’t be able to move when I’m through with you.” Brian’s grunting now, and Justin pictures how gorgeous he must look. Long limbs splayed out on his sheets, desperately fucking into his fist, getting off on his own words just as much as Justin is.

“And then you know what I’m gonna do? What’s gonna happen after I make you come harder than you ever thought possible?” 

Justin’s teetering on the edge, biting down on his lip, slowing down his strokes, trying his hardest to hold off for just a second longer.

“I’m gonna wrap myself around you and hold you so fucking tight.” Brian’s voice cracks. “I’m gonna hold you until you fall asleep.”

That’s all that Justin can take. All the dirty talk in the world can’t compare to how Brian sounds when he says those words. His head is spinning, his vision blurring at the edges, as he comes all over his fist, his belly, his chest. He shamelessly shouts out Brian’s name, forgetting for a moment that he has a roommate, and the walls of their apartment are paper thin.

“ _Fuck_!” Brian grunts, and Justin hates that he can’t see the look on his face when he comes. Can’t revel in the way he exposes his neck and arches his back, eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. 

“Jesus, Brian.” Justin tries to steady his breathing, chest rising and falling in time with his heart drumming beneath his ribcage. “That was some bedtime story.”

Brian laughs. “Oh, it was no story. I plan on making good on every single one of those promises next week.”

“You better.” Justin sighs happily, slipping back down onto his pillow, fingers lazily playing in the sticky mess that now covers him. He can’t be bothered to clean up just yet.

“Call me tomorrow.” Brian yawns.

“Yeah. Go back to sleep.” Justin feels his eyelids getting heavy. “And Brian?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” 

“Anytime, Sunshine.”

Sleep comes easy after that, the sense of safety surrounding him so ever-present he almost forgets he is alone in his bed. 

He dreams of Brian’s hands. His fingers tracing patterns on his lips. The taste of him on his tongue. He dreams in brilliant shades of orange and gold. The sunrise on his face. The warmth of home on his skin.


End file.
